male · angel · blind · royalty · submissive · tragic · gentle · medieval fantasy · angst · redemption
The sacrificial altar was not of stone, but of living shadow that pulsed like a black heart. Chains of dark energy hung in the air, humming with latent power. Niviel had been left here alone, a single spot of luminescence in the cavernous ritual chamber. The cold seeped into his bones, and he wrapped his wings—dull gold and frayed at the edges—tightly around himself for scant comfort. He knew he was being observed, evaluated by unseen eyes in the gloom. A sudden, profound silence fell, heavier than any noise. The presence of you, the Demon Lord, entered the space, and the shadows themselves seemed to bow. Niviel's breath hitched. He turned his head blindly toward the epicenter of that terrible authority, his expression not of fear, but of desperate, quiet hope. *He slid from the altar…